The Magic of Deduction
by Lilygloves
Summary: Sherlock is a bright young wizard just starting his first year at Hogwarts. Desperate for acceptance, he finds friendship with another talented wizard named Tom.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I originally got the idea for just Sherlock, but then the crossover just kind of happened. I'm trying to keep it as close to canon as possible. I don't have any beta tester yet, so bear with me. If you have any comments or corrections, feel free to leave them. We'll see how long this story goes.  
****I do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter, although I wish I did :)**

Sherlock sat very still on the Hogwarts train with perfect posture. Even his head was up straight, since he had the tendency to hold books in front of his face instead of straining his neck to look down at his lap to read. Although Sherlock had already read plenty of books on potions, including his older brother Mycroft's textbooks, he was eager to study his own copy of _Magical Draughts and Potions_ and add his own notes and annotations. After hearing about all the subjects offered at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from his older brother Mycroft for five years, Sherlock had always been most enthusiastic about potions and had even taken the liberty to study the subject in-depth on his own. He was feeling confident that he would excel in that subject particularly and wanted to take advantage of any resources he could get his hands on. The intense silence of his compartment helped him focus on his studies, and he was grateful for the solitude the quiet car provided. Although Sherlock was a pureblood and grew up familiar with other wizarding families, the familiarity generally did not extend past acquaintanceship and the occasional nod of acknowledgement in passing. Beyond that, his other relationships with young witches and wizards his age mostly consisted of constant bullying and teasing which he was more than happy to avoid during his first trip on the Hogwarts Express.

When he heard the compartment door open, he would have looked up in surprise that someone was actually joining him if he hadn't heard the recognizable rhythm of the footsteps approaching.

"How did your prefect duties go, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked without looking up from his book. He frowned at the list of brewing directions on the page, then picked up his quill to improve step four.

"It went as expected; most of the first and second years stayed in line when they saw me coming with Matilda to check on them," Mycroft answered as he sat down opposite his brother. "It's the third years that really give us cheek. One of the third year Gryffindors tried to hex me from behind as a way to show off to a girl. Rather heavy-handed of him actually, I could clearly hear his wand being draw from his pocket and Anteoculatia requires some broad wand work. In addition to the fact that he can't preform non-verbal spells yet, he could not have been more obvious."

"Pity," replied Sherlock curtly. "Antlers would have suited you."

Mycroft was about to respond with a witty retort of his own, but stopped when he saw the teasing smile on his brother's face that he was trying to hide behind his book. Mycroft decided to do some studying on his own, so he pulled out his wand and a Chocolate Frog and began to practice the Engorgement Charm non-verbally.

The rest of the train ride consisted of mostly silence with the occasional sound of pages flapping and already dull quills scratching away. Mycroft would ask his brother what potion he was reading sporadically and offer advice of his own for Sherlock to scribble down in addition to his own notes. After a few hours of the monotonous chugging of the train, both Holmes brothers began to sense the reduction in speed.

"Sherlock", said Mycroft after he put his things back into his satchel, "I need to find Matilda again so we can help the first years get into the boats. Remember, don't be worried about the Sorting Hat and don't let other people bully you. Don't be scared-"

"I'm not scared," Sherlock interrupted defiantly. "I know all about the Sorting Hat from mother and you've already told me more than enough about Ravenclaw for me to know that I'll get along with my House perfectly fine. I can handle it on my own."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with sympathetic eyes to match his brother's bold stare. He knew he hat hit a nerve when he mentioned bullying.

"Mycroft, I appreciate your concern, but at Hogwarts, I'll be with people like me. I'm different, but we're all different. That's why we're going to learn magic. It's rather obvious that I'll also be in Ravenclaw, so I'll be with…people like me." Sherlock broke eye contact and looked down at his textbook, riddled with his own scribbles. The Holmes brothers were different from most people for their magical abilities, but their intelligence and aptitude also set them apart. Mycroft learned how to deal with the social issues that came with their mental gifts, but Sherlock had never quite gotten the hang of it, resulting in social awkwardness in most situations. Both boys, Sherlock especially, hated that something they considered a gift was looked down on.

Mycroft sighed and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "You're going to be a brilliant wizard, Sherlock." He picked up his bag and exited the compartment, leaving his younger brother alone for the rest of the trip. Sherlock was glad that Mycroft was so supportive, although he would never let him know how much he appreciated it. On the other hand, he was also relieved that Mycroft left him alone right before they reached Hogwarts. It allowed him to try to calm his nerves.

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," Sherlock recited to himself. He certainly agreed with that, considering he had made the pursuit and utilization of knowledge his main goal in life. Obviously he would be sorted into Ravenclaw, but the one thing he could not yet deduce was the number of friends he would be able to make at his first year at Hogwarts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thanks for the positive response and comments! I'm very inspired, so hopefully it won't take long for me to finish the story. I know where I want it to go, but it might take a bit of writing to actually get there. I had a bit of confusion uploading the chapters, so bear with me. Feel free to leave more comments and constructive criticism. **

**Just so you all know, I don't plan on using Sherlock characters too much besides Sherlock and Mycroft, and the plot is mostly going to follow Sherlock's relationship with Tom Riddle. Try not to get your Johnlock hopes up. I might throw in some Sherlock characters/references for the fun of it though. :) **

**I do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter.**

Sherlock gathered his things and glanced out the window again. The train had finally pulled in with a screech, but he wanted to take a minute to calm his nerves. The darkness outside made it difficult for him to be able to see anything outside, although he did catch a glimpse of his own reflection. He rubbed his cheeks to try to bring some color to them, although his unusually pronounced cheekbones made that a bit difficult. After giving up the attempts, he focused on his dark, curly hair that occasionally fell over his eyes. He tried flattening it out a bit, but once again his lack of success forced him to abandon his endeavors.

He was so absorbed in creating a good impression that it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize that there were other Hogwarts students outside the train looking at him checking out his own reflection in the window. Swearing softly to himself, he grabbed his satchel and hurried off the train.

The night air hit him quite suddenly as he stepped off the train, which he appreciated. The cold seemed to wake up his brain and made him feel more alert. As he looked around at the other students, he instinctively made mental notes based on his observations. _Muggle-born… only child…didn't get anything from the trolley- oh, and regrets it… _

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a deep voice calling, "First years! First years, here! Hurry up!" Sherlock scanned the horde of black-clad students to find the source of the voice. Mycroft had already explained the usual process first years went through, so he already knew to look for the gamekeeper, a broad, gruff man named Ogg. Rumor had it that Ogg had some troll blood in him, although Headmaster Dippet neither confirmed nor denied the tale.

"Sherlock, why are you just standing around?" called Mycroft. Sherlock's head snapped and found his brother trying to round up a group of first years a few feet away. "Listen to instructions and get over to the boats." Sherlock knew that Mycroft was only snapping because he was looking out for him, but he also knew not to dawdle while his brother was stressed with so much responsibility at the moment.

Pushing other students out of the way, Sherlock stumbled into the group of 11 year-olds surrounding the bulky and somewhat intimidating gamekeeper.

"Oi, watchit, will you?" said a boy right next to him that he had accidentally bumped. "Look where you're going!"

Sherlock glanced him over, making observations within seconds. The boy was rather large with a broad face, dark hair, and a large nose. Due to the fluffiness of his hair in addition to the fact that his ears were sticking out, Sherlock could hardly help but think that the student next to him closely resembled a monkey. The boy's loud voice called the attention of the three other boys standing with him, clearly his good friends. All four of the boys were giving Sherlock ugly looks.

"Aren't you going to apologize?" said the boy, jabbing Sherlock with his finger. "Maybe that ugly mat of hair is covering your ears as well as your eyes, since you can't manage to see or hear anything. Or maybe you're just stupid." The three other boys sniggered.

"Oh, I can see plenty," Sherlock retorted coolly. "I can see that your mother kissed you goodbye, oh yes, you missed some of her lipstick on your cheek when you tried to wipe it off. It's very faint, which is good for you, considering you wanted to hide it from your friends. You don't want them to see you as a 'wimp', indicating that although you try to act tough. You are, in reality, very insecure about yourself and try to pick on people smaller than you. Now why do you have such low self-esteem? Maybe it's because of your appalling physical features that closely resemble primates, but judging by the state of your tie, your daddy's not around much anymore, if at all, and your mother hardly notices you since she never bothered to teach you to properly tie it. I can tell your father didn't die since you are clearly wearing his watch-you might want to get the size adjusted- but it looks like it's in perfect condition although dirty and the numbers are crooked, which means that you've had to repair it. Your mother probably tried to destroy the watch with magic because it reminds her of him, but you still feel a strong attachment to it because you miss daddy so you tried to fix it yourself although not very well considering the numbers are crooked on the face and the 7 and 8 are switched. Of course, first years can hardly be expected to perform magic well, even growing up with wizarding parents like you did. Did I see enough for you?"

Monkey Boy's three friends stared at him as he gaped at Sherlock. "How did you- what- someone told you those things!"

"I simply observed," responded Sherlock, almost in a bored tone although inwardly he was feeling rather proud for standing up for himself. Even some of the other first years around them seemed impressed, including a handsome young man with dark hair standing with another boy and girl. The handsome boy had turned around during Sherlock's speech and was studying him with piercing dark eyes.

"Stratz, is that true? I mean, we knew your mum and dad were having problems, but did he really leave?" asked one of the boy's friends.

Stratz glared at Sherlock, his face turning a mixture of scarlet and purple. Sherlock could tell that he was trying to cover his shock and embarrassment with aggressive behavior, which only made Sherlock feel smugger. Finally, Stratz closed his mouth and grabbed him by the collar. "I don't know how you know all those things," he hissed into Sherlock's ear, "but you better watch yourself. Let's see how many 'observations' you can make from the bottom of the lake!"

Sherlock's brilliant eyes widened as Stratz picked him up by the collar, stumbled over to the dock where the boats were being filled by other first years, and clumsily threw him in. Sherlock's calls for help were suddenly cut short as his mouth filled with icy water. Stratz had thrown him in headfirst, so he was dizzy and disoriented. Luckily, he had managed to gulp some air before he hit the lake, although the low temperature of the water seemed to press against his body and tried to freeze his muscles. His survival instinct eventually kicked in, and he floundered his way to the top. Since Stratz had thrown him in right by the docks, the water was shallow enough to prevent him from going down too far under, although too deep for him to stand. With his head still reeling from the shock, he broke through the rippling water and coughed up as much water as he could. Ogg, who had just discovered what had happened, jumped into the lake and wrapped two firm arms around his torso, pulling him out of the water. Sherlock fought to regain his breath, although he was too weak to stand and he crumpled to the grass. His eyes stung from the water and lack of oxygen, although he fought as hard as he could to not make it seem as if he was crying. As he gasped for air, he could hear Ogg's gruff voice yelling at Stratz, and Sherlock could not pretend he was not glad that the tough gamekeeper was taking care of the bullies.

"Are you alright?" a concerned voice asked. Sherlock tried to steady his light head as he looked up. Another first year with friendly brown eyes and light hair was on one knee and held his hand out. "Whenever you can manage, mate."

Sherlock caught his breath and reluctantly took his hand to stand up. The boy kept his grip and shook Sherlock's hand, saying, "I'm John. John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes," he hesitantly responded. He released his hand to wrap his arms around his body to try to keep in heat, although it did not help very much to fight the cold clinging to his body through his dripping clothes.

"That was brilliant, what you did there."

"What, getting tossed in the lake?" Sherlock said bitterly, breaking eye contact to look at the ground.

"No, what you said to Stratz back there. I met him on the train and he seemed like a git, so I'm not complaining. How did you know all those things?"

Sherlock glanced at Watson's face, making sure that he wasn't teasing him. "I merely observed," he mumbled.

"Did you really know all those things just by looking at him? That's really amazing!"

"Thank you-" Sherlock gave a faint hint of a smile, but the conversation was interrupted by Ogg's gruff voice.

"Are you feelin' better?"

"Um, yes…sir."

Ogg gave him what seemed to be an attempt at a reassuring smile, but mostly looked as if he had swallowed slugs. He pulled out his wand and muttered a spell to dry Sherlock's robes. "Good," he said towards Sherlock. He then turned and bellowed at the crowd of first years surrounding him, "Now all of you, into the boats and no funny business or you'll all get detention before school starts!"

He gave them all a stern glare that was so alarming they all scrambled into the boats as quickly as possible. As the boats gently pulled away from the dock, guided by magic, every witch and wizard sat in wonder, anticipating their first moments in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: Again, I am trying to make this story as accurate as possible. If you notice anything that doesn't align with Sherlock or Harry Potter canon, please feel free to point it out in the comments. I know that Dumbledore was never Head of House for Gryffindor, but I couldn't find who it was before McGonagall so let's just go with it.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter and I welcome any constructive criticism and comments. I do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter.**

Sherlock remained silent during the duration of the boat ride. The other students around him had witnessed what had happened at the edge of the lake and seemed to avoid eye contact.

_It's not fair,_ Sherlock thought. _I was the one that was bullied. I was just trying to stand up for myself. I was the victim, and yet people are treating me like the freak._

Unfortunately, he had been unable to secure a seat by the nice boy, John Watson. After all the commotion, Ogg had pressured the first years into taking whatever seat was available, regardless of seating preference. Sherlock regretted John's absence, considering the other children in the boat were starting to whisper and one of them even giggled. He tried to look ahead, as if he could not notice the reactions of the others, but as he felt a lump form in his throat he was forced to look down to his lap in order to hide the wetness in his eyes. Inconspicuously, Sherlock took a few deep breaths and managed to force air around the lump. _Not here,_ he thought as he gritted his teeth. _This is my one chance to find a friend; I'm not going to ruin it with frivolous emotions._

Sherlock was feeling much more confident by the time they reached the castle. After waiting 11 years for his magical education to begin, he could not help but feel a swoop of exhilaration in his stomach. As his boat slipped into the dense, dark reflection of the castle, the lights in the windows created a friendly sort of glow on the water. The starry night created a beautiful image and lit up the lake. It could hardly have been a more magical scene.

The boats led them closer and closer to the castle, until a tunnel covered with ivy became more visible. Whispers filled the chilly night air and the excitement and tension increased as they inched closer and closer to the underground harbor. Carefully, each student made their way out of the boats and filed through the passageway out into the open air, then up the stairs to the castle behind Ogg. He clumsily banged the door four times. The towering oak doors opened at once, although no one was there behind it. A few feet from the entrance in the corridor stood a tall man with graying hair and twinkling blue eyes.

"Thank you Ogg. That will be all," said the man with a welcoming smile.

Ogg mumbled something that sounded like "'S me job" and lumbered outside toward the fields, disappearing into the darkness.

"My name is Professor Dumbledore," the man began, "and it is my pleasure to be one of the first to welcome the new students to the beginning of their magical career at Hogwarts. The banquet should be beginning soon, so please follow me."

Dumbledore's friendliness seemed to sooth the nerves of most of the students, especially the Muggle-Borns who were typically the most anxious since they had little idea of what to expect.

Being a Pureblood, Sherlock had heard a multitude of stories about the Sorting Process, which helped to alleviate the pressure. It also helped that he was confident in his House of Ravenclaw. His brother, mother, father, grandmother, and grandfather had been in that House. In fact, that was how both his parents and grandparents met. Although Sherlock doubted he would find a potential mate at Hogwarts, he tried to ignore his eagerness to find a friend. _Pathetic,_ he thought as he pushed the idea aside. _It's completely pathetic that I would feel the need to rely on someone like that. Emotions just complicate things._It was even harder for him to ignore how pathetic his desperation for a friend was. He could not deny his yearning for a sense of belonging.

Dumbledore led then through the hall and up to the stairs by another large door, where he stopped and turned to face the students.  
"May I say again, welcome to Hogwarts!" he began enthusiastically. "I know you must all be feeling quite peckish, but before the start-of-term banquet can begin, you must be Sorted into your Houses. This will be a momentous and very important occasion for each of you, especially because your House will determine with whom you will share a dormitory, go to classes, and spend your free time. Your House should feel like your family, although it is my hope that all Hogwarts students feels like family to you." His eyes twinkled through his half-moon glasses as he looked down on the first years.

Sherlock seriously doubted his House would feel like a family. He could barely get to the castle without a run-in with a bully.

The professor continued, "The four Houses are Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. All four Houses have an honorable and noble history, so no matter which House you are put in I do hope you feel proud. Each year, you will either be rewarded with or lose points for your House. The House with the most points will be honored with a feast at the end of the year and will win the House Cup. The Sorting Ceremony should begin in a few moments. Now, if you will excuse me, I will bring you in the Dining Hall in just a minute." Dumbledore gave a slight bow and slipped into the Hall.

As soon as he left, the whispers burst out from among the first years.

"I would rather be put into Hufflepuff than Slytherin, otherwise I think I'd die!"

"How on earth are they going to Sort us? I heard it's some sort of test, but I have no idea what it's like."

"I heard Gryffindor's the best, although Ravenclaw and Slytherin seem really similar too, from what others told me on the train. I wonder how they decide the difference."

"I expect to be in Slytherin, me mum and dad were in it. Hardly a person in me family wasn't."

Sherlock, who was standing by himself off to the side, pretended to be examining the moving paintings on the wall as he scanned the corridor for a specific person. He thought he could make out the top of John's head, although it was too hard to tell considering how short the boy was. Sherlock was certain he had found him and was about to go over to him when the boy with the piercing dark eyes that had watched him by the dock blocked his view.

"Hello there," said the boy, holding out his hand. The boy and the girl Sherlock had seen with him before were still by his side. "I'm Tom Riddle. I saw you by the dock."

Sherlock tried to keep his cheeks from blushing as he reluctantly took Tom's hand. "Nice to meet you," he mumbled. "If you'll excuse me, I'm looking for someone." Although he really did want to find John again, he was more concerned with an excuse to avoid one of the people that had witnessed his earlier humiliation.

"That was really clever of you, how you handled that. I couldn't believe all the things you knew about him, and just by looking, too! If it were me, I probably would have tried to hex him or something, but you really hit him where it hurt."

Sherlock looked up surprised, and then studied Tom's face. By the friendly yet smug expression, Sherlock had a suspicion that Tom had tried to make him feel embarrassed with the reminder of his accidental swim and then chose to reveal that he was actually complimenting him. The tactic gave Sherlock the sense that Tom was impressed with his deduction skills, while still giving a veiled reminder that Tom had the power to make Sherlock feel bad about himself but chose not to. By catching him when he was most vulnerable with the shameful memory and then complimenting him to show his support, Tom subconsciously made Sherlock feel safer with him. _That's actually clever,_thought Sherlock. _Most people would be too stupid to realize what he's doing and he could take advantage of their subconscious gratitude._He gave Riddle a smile, not as much for the compliment, but for his shrewdness in gaining friends. _Maybe I've actually found an equal, or at least the closest thing to my equal._ He couldn't help but give Tom a nod of approval, which Tom clearly recognized as a sign of mutual respect.

"By the way, this is Alec Davitt and Valerie Kaden," said Tom, gesturing to the girl and boy next to him. "I met them on the train."

Both Davitt and Kaden gave Sherlock an unfeeling smile. It was obvious that they were merely being polite for Tom's sake, although Sherlock had to wonder how he had gained two loyal followers in only a few hours. He could not help but feel even more respect for Tom.

"And what was your name?" asked Tom.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sherlock."

Sherlock could not help but let a small smile slide across his face. He felt confident that Riddle was fascinated by his uncanny abilities and the fascination was obviously mutual. As Sherlock mused over Tom's charisma skills, the large doors groaned open wide and Dumbledore stepped out again.

"Please come in and form a line behind me," instructed a still-smiling Dumbledore, "and get ready to be Sorted!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I know that the other chapters were coming out daily and this one took a week, but to be fair that's faster than a lot of fan fiction. My Sorting Hat song isn't that great and it stopped my creative juices for a few days, but thankfully I got my muse back so I could finish the chapter. Please don't judge the song.**

**Someone in a review asked in Tom was bullied before he came to Hogwarts and how he could have friends already. From what the books say, I Tom was probably not very popular and it is likely that he was bullied at some point, but he used magic (unknowingly) to bully others. Also from the description of Tom as a Hogwarts student, he was very good at manipulating people and was seen as a leader, so I doubt he was bullied at Hogwarts very much at all. I think he was able to charm Kaden and Davitt into becoming his "friends", or followers rather. At least that's how my story is going. Dumbledore explains to Harry that he attracted certain types of people because he was the leader of their bullying group and gave them a sense of power, and you'll see how Tom's friends fit that description in later chapters.**

**Alright, enough jawing. Again, comments and constructive criticisms are welcome. I do not own Sherlock, Harry Potter, or any characters.**

Sherlock, Tom, and the rest of the students followed Professor Dumbledore into the Great Hall. A great buzz had arisen all over as the first years gaped at the enormous room and the older students discussed the new crop of witches and wizards. Most of the professors sitting at the table in the front offered welcoming and reassuring smiles to the newest additions to the school. Even some of the ghosts attempted to make them feel at home, although the majority of the first years seemed put off by the transparent floating forms.

Sherlock had asked Mycroft plenty of questions about what Hogwarts looked like, but his imagination could not compare to the floating candles, beautiful architecture, and starry night ceiling. He glanced over at the Ravenclaw table, where he saw Mycroft sitting with the other fifth year prefect Matilda. Mycroft was already watching Sherlock and gave him a comforting look. Sherlock tried to return the look and hoped it came across less anxious than he actually felt.

Dumbledore walked up the steps to the professors' table and turned around to face the students. A raggedy hat was resting on a stool next to him.

Tom could not hide his surprise. "A hat?" he whispered. "What does that have to do with Sorting?"

"You put the hat on, it tells you what House you are in. That's all," answered Sherlock in a low voice.

The hat trembled for a moment, and then seemed to split right above the brim. The split turned into a sort of mouth, and began to recite loudly,

_Don't judge by looks, I'm proof of that_

_For I am more than just a hat!_

_I'd grant you luck on your endeavor_

_To find another Hat as clever._

_See my value, I do not lie,_

_Just by having a look inside._

_That's what I do year after year_

_My sole purpose is very clear. _

_A student comes, brave, cunning, loyal, or smart_

_I look at their brain and their heart_

_To see which House they might fit in:_

_Whether Gryffindor, Slytherin,_

_Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw_

_I know what's best- my word is law!_

_If courage is what you're looking for_

_You're same as Godric Gryffindor._

_But if you're more cunning and sly_

_In Slytherin you might get by._

_Next is hardworking, loyal and true._

_You're a Hufflepuff through and through._

_Last, if you've got brains and wit_

_Ravenclaw is where you'll most fit._

_Every trait you all do possess,_

_Some more than others, I confess._

_Who has what? I figure it out_

_That's what a Sorting Hat's about!_

Sherlock clapped politely as the rest of the witches and wizards in the Hall broke out into applause and cheers.

"When I call your name," announced Dumbledore after the cheering had subsided, "please come up, sit on the stool, and put the Hat on." He pulled out a scroll of parchment. "Anderson, Aris!"

Aris shyly made his way to the stool and, after tripping on a step, put the Hat on. After a few seconds the Sorting Hat called out, "Hufflepuff!"

The Hufflepuff table clapped loudly as Andrew sat down by the rest of the students wearing yellow and black ties.

"Binkley, Andrew!"

"Ravenclaw!"

"Bruner, Attlesley!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Calo, Sylvia!"

"Slytherin!"

"Chang, Jonathan!"

"Ravenclaw!"

The list went on for a while with the interchangeable calling of names and Houses. For some students, the Hat needed to take a few minutes to decide, while with others it was only a few seconds.

"Davitt, Alec!"

Davitt brushed Sherlock's shoulder as he sauntered up to the stool and put the Hat on. It had only been on for a moment when the Hat yelled, "Slytherin!"

"Greak, Anya!"

"Gryffindor!"

"Holmes, Sherlock!"

A few whispers came from the Ravenclaw table, and Sherlock assumed that Mycroft's classmates were asking if they were related. Sherlock confidently walked up to the stool, sat down, and put the Hat over his head. It would have been too big if his thick, curly hair didn't keep the Hat from falling over his eyes. He didn't expect his Sorting to take more than a few seconds.

"Hmm," said a small voice. "You definitely have the qualities of the Ravenclaw. Sharp brain, confidence in your abilities, a thirst for knowledge… I can also see a thirst to prove yourself. These are also qualities found in Slytherin…Plus, you have Pureblood status."

"No!" gasped Sherlock out loud. He hadn't meant to vocalize his pleas, but the surprise was too much.

"Oh, a legacy to prove, eh Sherlock?" said the Hat. "You would be able to do great things in Slytherin. Great, yes, but good? Ah, I see. You don't just want to be in Ravenclaw because of your family. You want to be in Ravenclaw to find a real friend, but it seems you've already found one, haven't you?"

For once in his life, Sherlock did not know how to respond. Yes, he had found Tom, but he could not know what House Tom would be Sorted into. He could only assume based on his brief encounter that the boy would be put into Ravenclaw, so Sherlock felt a stronger desperation to be in the same House as Riddle and his brother.

"Ravenclaw!" called out the Hat after a few minutes of deliberation. Sherlock hadn't realized he was holding his breath, so he inhaled and exhaled deeply to steady his heart beat. As he walked over to the table, he tried to catch Tom's eye and gave him a quick smile.

As Sherlock sat down at the table, he could see Mycroft grinning from the other end. He could tell his brother was bursting with pride that his brother was Sorted into his House, especially after the anticipation from when Sorting Hat took its time. The Sorting went on for a while. Kaden was Sorted into Slytherin with Davitt.

Sherlock had to admit that the Sorting Ceremony was interesting, but he was rather bored with it. He did not feel the need to concern himself with anyone outside his House, so he instead focused his attention on analyzing his fellow Housemates. As the new Ravenclaws joined the table, Sherlock kept his eye out firstly for potential friends and secondly for someone that could "keep up with him mentally", as Sherlock put it. He was sure that the student that could qualify as the second would be the best to qualify for the first. He observed as much as he could about each student, studying them intensely. He tried to figure out which was the most mature, the most outgoing, the brainiest of the brains. He realized that this would be difficult to deduce the first night, since most students were optimistic and all equally eager to make friends as soon as possible. First impressions are not always correct.

The next name called snapped his attention back to the Sorting Hat.

"Riddle, Tom!"

Sherlock held his breath, hoping to hear "Ravenclaw" come from the brim of the raggedy Hat. He almost thought he was more nervous about this Sorting than Tom was.

The Hat barely touched Riddle's head when it called out, "Slytherin!"

Sherlock exhaled and slouched, which he usually only did when very grouchy. _The Sorting Hat knows we're friends, that we get along_, he thought. _Why wouldn't we be put in the same House? We're so similar!_

Sherlock's dismal mood lasted until the end of the Sorting Ceremony when the last few students went up.

"Watson, John!"

"Gryffindor!"

_At least John's in a good House. He was kind to me. He deserves to be there, _thought Sherlock. He would not want to admit how much he cared about John's Sorting, and even he was surprised at his own sentiment.

When the last first year was sorted, Otto Zigler into Slytherin, a brilliant feast appeared on the tables. Sherlock was still unhappy about not being with Tom, although he knew he had to put on a good face about it to try to appear friendly for those around him. It helped to have a better attitude now that he finally had food in his stomach. He looked around for someone he could talk to, but most of the other students seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations. He was trying to think of something to say when he felt two hands clasp his shoulders.

"Sherlock, what the hell happened at the dock? I was in a carriage when I saw you fall in. Were you showing off again?" hissed Mycroft in his ear.

Sherlock refused to turn around to face him, trying to keep a cool disposition. "No, Mycroft, I wasn't showing off. For your information that gorilla began bullying me, obviously to show off for his goons of friends," he responded.

"Don't let it happen again," said Mycroft, trying to turn his brother to face him.

"You think I wanted that to happen?" demanded Sherlock.

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, this is where we belong. This is where you'll be for the next seven years. Like it or not, you have to get along with the rest of the students, so you might as well try being friends to make the most of it!"

"As if I didn't realize that already," muttered Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I want this for you!" Mycroft was starting to raise his voice, hoping that his brother would understand that he wasn't the enemy; that he was only trying to help.

"Do you think I'm not trying?" hissed Sherlock, a bit louder than he had wanted to. Some of the students around them were watching and wondering how a first year could have gotten in trouble with a prefect already. Mycroft looked like he was about to say something, but then he noticed the desperation in Sherlock's eyes. Mycroft could tell he really did want friends, and he could somewhat sympathize with the awkwardness of Sherlock's situation. He himself had some difficulties making friends when he first came to Hogwarts, and he realized that his brother was probably going through the same thing, worse even. Somehow, Sherlock never got the hang of normal social skills, unless he could manipulate them for his own advantage.

"Is everything alright?" Matilda Fellington had appeared at Mycroft's side and put her hand on his shoulder. She looked slightly nervous at the disturbance their row was causing.

Mycroft straightened up and said, "Everything's fine, I was just checking on my brother."

"Oh," Matilda looked slightly embarrassed. "I didn't realize this was your brother."

Sherlock noticed her hand slip from Mycroft's shoulder. Slightly disgusted by her small display of affection, and even more that she was embarrassed to show it in front of one of Mycroft's family members, he looked her over and took in as much about her as he could.

"You probably didn't hear the name 'Holmes' being called during the Sorting because you were more concerned with the pimple on your forehead. I can deduce that you tried to use a spell to get rid of it, but you really should leave that to the nurse since it's still pretty red there," said Sherlock. It came out a bit harsher than he actually meant it, but he still felt somewhat slighted by her.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft gave a warning tone.

"I know you noticed it, Mycroft, so why are you getting so upset?"

Matilda's face was turning red. "You noticed?"

Mycroft sounded exasperated. "Well of course I did, but I didn't feel the need to point it out, and you didn't need to say that, Sherlock!"

Matilda gave Sherlock a look and ran to the other end of the table, not where she was sitting before with Mycroft but among a group of other fifth year girls. They seemed to be comforting her and shooting nasty looks at the Holmes brothers.

"Mycroft, I-"

Mycroft held up a hand to stop Sherlock. "Just…just keep to yourself for now, Sherlock." He considered going over to talk to Matilda, but figured that now would not be the best time. Instead, Mycroft returned to where he was sitting before and began picking at his food.

Sherlock looked down at the table, where the dinner foods had been cleared and the desserts were now offered. He ate a little pudding for the sake of having something in his stomach, but overall didn't have much of an appetite. Obviously the first years around him had heard the whole conversation. The girls were disgusted that a first year would point out something so sensitive to a girl in front of her crush like that, a prefect no less! The boys were mainly trying to avoid the girl drama Sherlock had started. None of the first years around him were looking particularly friendly at the moment.

_Spectacular,_ thought Sherlock grimly. _A perfect beginning to a perfect year at Hogwarts._


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: Again, I apologize for taking more time than usual to write the chapter, but it is my longest chapter so far. I think that watching the end of Reichenbach made me want to not only cry, but also continue writing. Plus, I finally have a friend that proofreads it for me. :)**** A few comments:  
****1. I looked up Professor Binns and he was a professor when Riddle was there, although I don't know why he denied the existence of the Chamber of Secrets. I tried really hard to find out though, I promise.  
****2. Yes, I did quote Moriarty in here, but I do not intend to make Riddle a representation of Moriarty. Obviously as villains they share evil traits, but I'm not making them the same person.  
****3. I made the broom references as historically accurate as possible, although there is little information so I honestly don't know if a Comet 140 is better than a Cleansweep Three. Keep in mind that these were new brooms at the time (yes, I looked up the dates they came out).  
****4. I apologize in advance for my Ravenclaw riddles. They'll most likely be not that great.  
****5. Easter Eggs- I love musicals, so there is a Wicked reference in there that is slightly obvious because of the name. The reference to Sherlock rubbing his hands on his thigh is because it's a habit Benedict is prone to during interviews. **

**I hope you enjoy! I enjoyed writing this chapter even though it took more time to get the ball rolling. Comments and constructive criticisms are encouraged- if you see a typing or grammatical error, feel free to point it out, but be nice! **

**I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock and I apologize for the long note. **

Sherlock followed Mycroft with the rest of the students headed towards the Ravenclaw tower. Oddly enough, Matilda was keeping towards the back of the students, away from Mycroft. Most of the first years were falling behind the other Ravenclaws as they continued to gape at the grandeur of the halls.

By the time they reached the tower, many of the younger students were yawning and felt rather exhausted.

"Right," said Mycroft loudly, turning to face the crowd of Ravenclaws, "this is the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower. As you can see, there is no doorknob or handle. The way to get in is through the door knocker."

"What does that even mean?" piped up a mousy first year girl named Phillipa.

Mycroft looked hard at her, clearly annoyed. "If you wait, I'll explain." He cleared his throat and addressed the crowd again. "The eagle knocker will ask you a riddle. If you get the riddle correct, you can enter. If not, you'll have to wait for someone to come and answer it correctly. Of course, if you're clever enough you shouldn't get it wrong." He smiled slightly smugly, as if he was proud that the knocker could give testimony to his own superior intelligence.

The first years burst into questions as soon as they saw he was finished.

"Are they difficult riddles?"

"What sort of riddles are they?"

"How many guesses do you get?"

"You don't _guess,_ you _know_," Mycroft answered exasperated. "You're a Ravenclaw! But don't worry; the riddles get more difficult each year, so you'll have the easiest riddles this year so you can adjust to it. All you need to do to answer it is _think_."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. His parents and brother would constantly test him at home with riddles so he could practice logical thinking, sometimes by bribing him with sweets or blackmailing him by "kidnapping" his toys.

Mycroft made his way to the weathered door to answer the question. "Listen closely!" he called over his shoulder as he walked up to the eagle knocker.

The bronze eagle stretched itself to life, opened its stiff mouth, and with a croaky voice asked, "What is the true appearance of a boggart?"

Mycroft did not even pause for a moment to think. "It takes the appearance of whatever one is afraid of most, meaning its true appearance is fear itself."

"Well reasoned," responded the eagle knocker in a pleased voice. The door swung open and Mycroft held it open for the students to enter the common room.

The common room was large and airy, which pleased Sherlock since he preferred to pace while thinking sometimes. Blue and bronze decorated the room, but most impressive was the ceiling. Royal blue with lighter hues swirled all over, and if Sherlock looked for longer than a few seconds the ceiling appeared to be alive, breathing. Even the shining, painted stars looked like they were pulsating. Sherlock had to admit that, although he did not appreciate art to the same extent as others, the view was dazzling. Taking his eyes off the ceiling, Sherlock gazed around the rest of the common room, drinking it all in. He couldn't help but feel a sort of giddiness as he thought about all the vast knowledge he could learn with the use of the countless books lining the shelves. Four globes were positioned at opposing ends of the room, while most of the couches and chairs faced the fireplace. Sherlock subconsciously rubbed his hands together before placing them under his chin, analyzing the most convenient chair for him to claim for his studies and thoughts. Unfortunately, these thoughts were broken as Mycroft and Matilda began shouting orders to organize the first years into gender to show them to their rooms. Sherlock followed his brother with the rest of the boys up the stairs beyond the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. He barely talked to the other three boys in his room- Asher, Zeke, and Liam- but instead dug through his trunk that was brought up for him earlier and found his night things, got ready for bed, and quickly fell asleep in his new home.

Sherlock awoke very early the next morning. The other three boys were still fast asleep. Sherlock noted that they probably stayed up late talking, lasting on the liveliness of the excitement and adrenaline from the events of the prior evening. He felt alive and ready to start the day with lessons and learning. His usual morning routine consisted of tea and some reading, so he poured himself some water from the pitcher by his bed, dressed himself, and pattered down the stairs to the common room. The common room was essentially empty besides the paintings moving about, although most of them were still deep in slumber. Sherlock skimmed the titles, greeting each book the way he normally did by running his finger down their spines. He had barely noticed this habit when he first started doing it as a toddler and still did it without even realizing it. Mycroft noted years ago with amusement that Sherlock could greet pages of a book with more warmth than he could greet an actual person.

He grabbed a book entitled _Deliberations of the Decades_ with the subheading, _A Collection of Essays from Wizarding Experts on Popular Topics of Debate_. He concluded that in order to be a powerful wizard, he would want the best methods. It was possible that a book of debating sides would offer some arguments as to which were actually the best. He read through the first few chapters with great interest. Completely absorbed in the book, Sherlock would occasionally run his finger around the rim of his glass of water or rub a hand back and forth on the side of his thigh. When he got to a particularly debated topic, he would set down the book on his lap (careful to not bend the spine too much) and put his hands together like a prayer under his chin. He mentally weighed both sides and their validity, considered the consequences, and would come up with his own conclusion after a few minutes of pondering.

He had just gotten to the chapter by Galinda Uplander entitled, "Wands- Need They Have a Point?" when his fellow Ravenclaws finally stumbled down the stairs and into the common room, still a bit bleary eyed from their sleep. Sherlock gave an awkward wave to his roommates, placed his book carefully back on the shelf after noting his page number, and hurried after them. He joined up with Asher, Zeke, and Liam, but opted to stay towards the back of their small group. Sherlock barely spoke to any of them besides a quick greeting and followed them from the tower to the Grand Hall for breakfast. To be honest, Sherlock was rather bored with their conversation and didn't have quite as much anticipation about what their teachers would be like. He was more interested in what they would teach and what he would learn. The professor could be a werewolf and Sherlock would not care less, as long as he was able to expand his mind.

The four boys sat at the Ravenclaw table and loaded their plates with whatever fancied them, although Zeke seemed to fancy every type of food on the table, Sherlock noticed. Although his main goal he expected to achieve at Hogwarts was obviously his education, he had not forgotten his other hope to find a friend. He passed smiles when the situation demanded it and even offered his own input at times during their meal, but he craved more intellectual stimulation. _Their brains must be so pleasant, _Sherlock mused. _It's almost as if they can turn their brains on and off. _He sneaked a glance at the Slytherin table, where he saw Tom sitting with a small group of first years and even one or two second years. Davitt and Kaden were among the crowd of students of course, but Sherlock was still amazed that Riddle had gathered so many followers in such a small amount of time. As Riddle conversed with the other Slytherins, he almost looked bored with their company- until he caught Sherlock's eye and gave him a quick smirk. Sherlock returned the look and they both knew the other was saying, "aren't ordinary people so adorable?"

This silent conversation came to a quick end as Sherlock saw Riddle being handed what was probably his schedule of classes by Professor Slughorn, the Head of the House of Slytherin. The small pack surrounding Tom peered over his shoulder or over the table to get a look at what their weeks would look like during the school year.

Sherlock turned back to the conversation at his own table.

"Do you think any of you lot will try out for Quidditch?" asked Zeke, stuffing another mound of eggs in his mouth in the process.

Asher swallowed his swig of pumpkin juice and said, "First years aren't even allowed to have brooms, Zeke. What are you going to do, zoom around on one of the school's old Cleansweep Ones?"

"I hear Quentin Otero has a new Cleansweep Three! Those are supposed to be really good," said Liam, his light green eyes shining. "He's Seeker on the Hufflepuff team."

"Doesn't matter," said Zeke with a piece of toast in his hand. "I heard the Slytherin Seeker just got a Comet 140 and that'll outstrip the Cleansweep Three any day."

The three boys continued their Quidditch conversation through the rest of breakfast, leaving Sherlock unable to contribute much. Quidditch had never interested him to any extent. He was quite glad when Professor Merrythought, the middle-aged Head of Ravenclaw, finally got to their side of the table. Her hair was a deeper brown than seemed natural, and Sherlock felt sure that she had used a spell to hide the incoming grey hairs that naturally came to people her age.

"Here are your timetables for the term, boys," she said in a light voice. "You'll be taking classes with all your fellow first year Ravenclaws, although you will have some scheduled with other Houses. Please," said the professor looking at them over his glasses, "please remember that although we expect Ravenclaws to particularly excel academically, do your best to get along with the other Houses. No showing off."

"Yes professor," chanted the four boys in unison. Professor Merrythought gave them a warm smile and shuffled along to the next group of Ravenclaws

Asher, Zeke, Liam, and Sherlock scanned their schedules.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts first! That'll be interesting!" exclaimed Liam.

"It's with Slytherin though," said Zeke frowning, and then letting out a small burp.

"Brilliant!" said Sherlock loudly, a bit embarrassed that he gave away his high level of enthusiasm. He looked back at the small black words on the paper, trying not to give away a smile. Starting the day with Riddle wouldn't be half-bad; on the contrary, it could actually make the start of the day more interesting.

Asher studied their morning. "Slytherin's not half bad," he commented. "They're actually a lot like us Ravenclaws."

That was the third time in the past 24 hours Sherlock had heard that- the first time amongst the chatter after their arrival at Hogwarts, again during his own Sorting, and lastly from Asher's comment. _Would it really have been so bad if I was in Slytherin?_ Sherlock wondered.

"After that is History of Magic. All four boys must have heard Professor Binns' reputation, since none of them seemed too pleased at the thought of his tedious subject.

"Potions with Gryffindor!" said Sherlock. He knew that Ravenclaws typically preferred the company of Slytherin over Gryffindor due to their compatible characteristics, but he personally had nothing against Gryffindor. The fact that Ravenclaws usually supported Slytherin, Gryffindor's enemies, also put a strain between the Houses. Nevertheless, Sherlock was actually looking forward to his favorite class, and if John was in Gryffindor it couldn't be too bad.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. I realized I made a mistake in my last chapter and, since I do everything within my power to stay as close to canon as possible, it put me off writing for a long time. I made the changes to the previous chapter, but I looked up Professor Merrythought and it turns out she's a woman. Oops! Anyway, since then I've done about a dozen pages of research for Sherlock's social skills and Hogwarts history. You know you're a writer when you're looking up the definition of a psychopath. **

**Comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome, so feel free! If you see anything that's incorrect grammar or not canon, please mention it. I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock.**

The four boys wiped their mouths on the cloth napkins provided on the table and hurried back to the Ravenclaw tower. They needed to get their bags for their first day of classes, and of course they kept in mind the danger of being delayed at the door. Although Sherlock wasn't that worried, his roommates had overheard some of the other first years at breakfast voicing their concerns about answering the riddle incorrectly and then missing class as a result. Obviously, this would not bode well for a Ravenclaw. Luckily, a third year was just entering the door when the four boys reached the top of the tower, so they were able to slip in after her.

Puffing and out of breath, Asher, Zeke, Liam, and Sherlock managed to slide into their seats exactly three minutes before the start of their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Sherlock was honestly very pleased that he would begin his day with such an interesting and engaging subject, as opposed to History of Magic. He will most definitely fall asleep when Professor Binns opens his mouth.

"Well Holmes, let's see how that brain of yours does in a classroom."

Sherlock looked up to see Tom standing over his desk, a small smile on his face. Sherlock gave a similar smile, knowing that Tom was genuinely hoping to be impressed by Sherlock's skill. He was not planning on disappointing Tom.

Sherlock was about to respond when Professor Merrythought, the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, walked in.

"Good morning, students!" said the professor brightly as she set her dragon hide bag down on her desk. She flicked her wand towards the board to make her name appear and said, "I am Professor Merrythought, your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I met a good deal of you this morning, since I am, in fact, the Head of the Ravenclaw House. I look forward to spending the rest of the next few years with each House." She gave a warm smile for the class, and then grabbed the textbook out of her bag. "I hope you all have your textbooks with you, now please turn to page 13." Professor Merrythought flicked her wand again, and notes sprung up on the board.

Sherlock eagerly flipped through his book to find the right page. Although his main passion was potions, the subject of dark arts also fascinated him.

"Firstly," started Merrythought, "we will begin each chapter with a study of the topic, including details such as its definition, how to identify it, and the proper way to handle the dark magic. After that, we will begin the practical study of it, particularly the wand work and spells required to eradicate the dark forces. Be warned," she said as she peered over at the students, "although there are very few known Dark Wizards at this time, that does not mean there are not people with bad intentions. Do not take this subject lightly. On the other hand, the dark arts is no laughing matter. If you are suspected of using dark magic to purposefully harm someone, even as a joke, you will be in serious trouble. Now, let us begin."

The lesson was actually very interesting, despite the fact that they focused more on the theory of _Mucus ad Nauseam_, or the Curse of the Bogies. Although it was not exactly the most exciting piece of dark magic, Sherlock was thrilled by her teaching style. Professor Merrythought was obviously strict, but only because she genuinely wanted her students to learn and succeed. He could tell she was the sort of instructor that would push the students to reach their full potential.

After the lesson ended, however, it was clear that not all the students understood the intentions of her teaching method, particularly the Slytherins.

"Did you see how rude she was to Darius?" Ariel said to Violet as they left the classroom. "She's going to be so difficult, I won't be able to stand it! And I can't believe we're going to be going over boring notes for the entire year!"

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes as he gathered his things together. "Ridiculous," he muttered to himself. After putting the last scrap of parchment back in his satchel, he looked around the classroom to try to catch Riddle who he had seen sitting in the back of the classroom. Luckily, Tom hadn't left yet, but was hanging back with some of his friends. It seemed as if they were in no hurry to get to their next class. Tom caught Sherlock watching them, so he excused himself from his friends and made his way over.

"So, what did you think of your first class?" Sherlock asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

"What did I think?" answered Tom, "well I do hope we learn more than just how to make someone have a bad cold."

Sherlock was honestly surprised that Tom did not seem impressed, especially since he gave off signs of being a Muggle-born. Most Muggle-borns were fascinated just by the moving paintings around, so he had expected Tom to be thrilled with the idea of performing magic. True, they had not actually done any spellwork that class, and there was the fact that there are much more impressive forms of magic besides giving someone a runny nose, but altogether it was a good first lesson.

"The professor seems rather strict, don't you think?" Tom added.

"I think her strictness will be a good thing, Riddle. It will force the ordinary minds to go beyond their normal and quite frankly, low abilities," retorted Sherlock. He wanted to defend the Head of his House, especially since he appreciated Professor Merrythought's magical and teaching abilities. He also felt sure that Tom would agree with his statement that most of the witches and wizards at Hogwarts seemed rather mundane.

Sure enough, Tom smirked. "Well," he answered, "that seems like quite a challenge for any professor to take on."

Suddenly, Professor Merrythought appeared next to them. "What are you still doing here?" she asked in a scolding voice. "I need to set up for my next class and you two should be off by now!"

The two boys looked around and saw that not only had the rest of their classmates left already, there were some students arriving early for the next class.

Giving each other small smirks at the agitation of their professor, Sherlock and Tom scurried out of the classroom.

"So, Sherlock", started Tom, "I've been wondering how you knew all those things about that idiot, Stratz. He's in my House and he's been going on since the Sorting about how you insulted him and he used a spell to turn you into a fish."

Sherlock could feel his cheeks turning slightly pink, although he was not sure whether it was from anger or embarrassment. Thankfully, no one had reminded him up to this point about his little fiasco by the lake, but it apparently seemed like it was good enough gossip to bring up more than once.

"It was obviously all rubbish, really," Tom continued, "I was there and he couldn't have said a spell to save his life after you got his knickers in a twist like that." He turned to look at Sherlock. "Really, it was very impressive. Was it some sort of spell you used? Did you know how to do magic before coming to Hogwarts?"

Feeling some welling of pride in his stomach, Sherlock said, "Although I do present some sort of aptitude towards magic such as being able to control my abilities and channeling them towards something, no. That was not spellwork. There are some things that cannot be learned through physical strength or monotonous lessons. The science of deduction can be developed through the thought process." He was about to continue when he got the sense that this explanation might sound pompous and dull to Tom, so he turned to look into his companion's face. Instead of bored, Tom looked very intrigued, as if he was processing not only what Sherlock had said, but also how Sherlock had gotten to that level of logic.

"Isn't there some sort of magic you can use to, I don't know, have something revealed to you? Surely there must be a truth spell or a secret spell or…" For the first time, Tom seemed almost at a loss of words. Sherlock could tell Tom felt somewhat wounded by his lack of knowledge on the subject of magic as a whole, as if his Muggle-born status was showing.

Sherlock took mercy on him as they continued their walk through the halls and explained, "There are truth serums, which we will probably learn about in Potions class. They wouldn't teach them to first years, though. That's much more advanced magic. There are spells to make hidden things visible, but those are only physical things. What I find are clues on the person and draw conclusions. There is no spell that I have ever heard of that can do anything like that, and I come from a long wizarding family. There is, however, a very difficult form of magic called Legilimency, which is invading one's mind. That could also be used in a similar sense, but what I do is much more refined."

"Mind reading!" gasped Tom in wonder. "When do you think they will teach us that?"  
Sherlock refrained from scoffing, which was what he usually did when someone asked a silly question. "I guess one could call it mind reading, but not reading in the sense that you mean. That is too simple a term for Legilimency. My uncle was a very talented Legilimens and he would sometimes do it on my brother and me to find out if we had been naughty. It is learning how to read thoughts in the sense of navigating the mind and interpreting it- like reading and understanding a map more than reading a book. That still is not a good explanation and I apologize that I cannot give a better one since I have never practiced it."

Tom looked very interested in this subject, but out of his own pride Sherlock turned the conversation back to himself. "I personally do not require any magic at all to deduce my observations."

After a moment of silence and sidestepping the Bloody Baron's ghost, Tom asked in a voice in which Sherlock could detect a hint of hidden fear, "What can you deduce about me?"

Sherlock stopped walking and looked him over, taking in as much of his companion as possible. He twisted his mouth into a cheeky smile and said, "That one day you might be _almost_ as clever as me."

Tom returned the smile and slipped into his classroom. Noting the time, Sherlock hurried to his own class and just managed to slide into an empty seat only a few seconds before the start of History of Magic. To be honest, he doubted if Professor Binns would have noticed if he walked in halfway through the class with a hag on his arm. As he took out some parchment and a quill that was intended more for doodles than for notes, he pondered over all that he had gathered on Tom Riddle the past few days. He mulled over what Tom had told him and how he carried himself. He thought of Tom's pride, which was deserved considering his apparent cleverness. Sherlock thought of what he could deduce of Tom's background and contemplated how Tom probably felt about it. He could still remember that sliver of fear in Riddle's voice as he asked what Sherlock had deduced about him, almost fearful of what Sherlock could reveal to the world about him. Deciding not to think about it too much anymore, he carefully stored his thoughts in a chest and locked it away in the basement of his mind palace, then turned his attention to the extremely dull subject at hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: August is going to be really busy for me, so hopefully I'll be able to get some writing in. Sorry for the delay. I blame my Muse.**  
**I realized that I made a comment in the last chapter about DADA being in the dungeons, which it obviously isn't; Potions is in the dungeons. I fixed it, but it's still embarrassing. **  
**Comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome! I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock.**

A bell rang and Sherlock fell out of his light slumber. His chin slipped off his hand and he just managed to catch himself before his jaw hit the desk.

"Blimey, Sherlock," Liam said smirking at him. "You've been asleep for the last fifteen minutes of class. Come on! Time for Potions."

Sherlock looked around the room and discovered that most of the students were gone already, obviously keen on escaping Professor Binns and his tedious subject. Asher, Zeke, and Liam were standing by, waiting for him to wake up. Still groggy, Sherlock shook himself to refocus his brain. He hated any moment when he could not rely on his mind to stay sharp and acute; his brain was his strongest weapon and defense. In the moment he took to gain his bearings and gather his things, his three roommates put their attention on discussing an attractive Hufflepuff and left the classroom together. Sherlock sighed and looked down at his parchments. He had not gotten many notes down, but he did have a few doodles and even a few small pools of saliva on it from his mouth. Not the best start of the year for a Ravenclaw. At least the next class he had was Potions. He was sure he would be able to prove himself then. He couldn't help but feel a slight pride in his skills as well as hopefulness that his fellow Ravenclaws would be impressed with him. Maybe even that John Watson fellow…

While Sherlock had dawdled on his way to History of Magic, he now showed how speedily he could get to a class he was actually interested in. Sidestepping students on his way to the classroom, he was almost at the stairs to the dungeon to the dungeon when-WHAM.

All of a sudden he was facedown on the floor, the wind knocked out of him. Someone had tripped him. As he tried to regain his breath, he heard a group of boys laughing around him, and was able to discern the identity of one of them immediately.

"Just can't keep yourself on your feet, can you, Holmes!" roared Stratz.

Sherlock closed his eyes in an attempt to shut out their laughter. _No_, he thought desperately. _This can't be happening. _He tried to get back up only to have his back stomped on by Stratz's rather large shoe, holding him down.

"So, Holmes, what can you 'observe' about me now? Besides my shoe size, I mean," sneered Stratz. "Look at him, struggling to get up. Maybe one of your friends can help you get up- oh wait, you don't have any."

Sherlock managed to push himself up and a bit, He turned his body so he was facing Stratz and ended up sitting on the floor. He quickly looked over the hulking boy and without a second thought of the consequences said, "I might not have friends but at least I have my father at home."

Stratz's face hardened. Sherlock had seen him angry at the docks a few nights ago, but that was nothing compared to the viciousness he could see now. Of course, Stratz's friends would probably assume that it was a petty jab after what Sherlock had mentioned only days before about an absent father. Only he and Sherlock would know that his father finally left his mother for good. Sherlock could see the letter among Stratz's books. It looked tearstained with a woman's handwriting. Obvious. Just to spite him, Sherlock shrugged and said, looking him in the eye, "you asked."

That was the last straw. Stratz grabbed him by the collar with both hands, picked him up off the floor, and threw him against the wall. Sherlock rubbed the back of his head and tried to shake off the stars that were appearing before his eyes only to see something else- a large fist coming right at him. Still dazed from the pain coming from both his nose and head, Sherlock tried to slump down a bit to avoid any more confrontation. Unfortunately, he would gain no relief. Before he could assess the damage the fist caused his nose, it came back at him, this time towards his stomach. Stratz may not have been the brightest student Sherlock had come across, but he certainly was the strongest so far. He repeated the blow directed towards the stomach three more times before he decided that had had enough. By this time, a large group of students had gathered, watching.

"I may not like Muggles," growled Stratz as he held Sherlock's head back by his hair, "but I have to admit, I do like their fighting styles."

Sherlock knew that this would probably be his only chance to defend himself before Stratz did major damage. He pulled out his wand, pointed it somewhat in Stratz's direction, and yelled, "Everte Statum!"

Stratz flew through the air, hitting the opposite wall. Sherlock heard the sound of his head hitting the wall, but he didn't take the time to check whether he had caused much damage. The spell alone was powerful enough to slow him down, if only for a minute. Sherlock thanked his lucky stars that he had seen his aunt perform that spell on his uncle more than once. With that, he grabbed his books and satchel and hurried off toward the dungeons without a look back. Luckily, none of Stratz's thugs thought to stop him; they were more occupied with their injured leader.

Instead of swaggering into the classroom as he had planned, Sherlock slunk to the seat furthest to the back, cursing under his breath. This was not how he wanted to make his first impression to his Potions teacher: with a broken nose, blood dripping on his robes, and a footprint on his back. He set his bag down while still clutching the wand. It had been his only defense in the moment. He learned quickly that even his mind was not a very good match for brute strength. _Mental note_, he thought,_ learn defense skills_. He would never again be caught in a fight like that unprepared. He sighed, put down his wand, and then took out his numerous textbooks in search of a spell or potion that could fix his broken nose. This proved difficult since he was still trying to stop the blood flow.

As he flipped through the pages, the professor came in- or rather, waddled in. His wide body did not leave much space between the door frame. He looked around the room with an almost proud expression while stroking his walrus-like mustache, as if he could not wait to show off what he could teach these students. As he gazed around the room, his eyes fell on Sherlock, who was still looking through the books frantically.

Sherlock heard the professor come in, but a minute later he could feel eyes resting on him. He looked up and made eye contact with the large man standing at the front of the room. He stopped looking through his books, closed them, and tried to make himself as invisible as one could without an Invisibility Cloak. Sliding down in his seat was not a good first impression for his Potions teacher. Thankfully, the professor made no comment to him about his face or the blood.

The professor cleared his throat and began, "Greetings, first years! I am Professor Slughorn and I will be teaching you Potions while you are here at Hogwarts. Now, let me explain to you: Potions is a very delicate and precise art. It requires patience, focus, and a careful reading of the directions. To start, please take out your textbooks and open them to the glossary provided in the front. In order to make potions, you must first understand what you are using. Take notes on the first page of ingredients listed, and we will discuss them in a moment."

Professor Slughorn finished his speech and then looked around the room again to make sure the students were following his directions. Most of the Ravenclaws looked eager to start learning this subject, and they were certainly much more enthusiastic about taking notes in Potions than in History of Magic. Some of the Gryffindors didn't look happy to be resigned to their quill and parchment. _Although_, thought Sherlock, _Gryffindors are always more interested in action than in actual learning_. As he thought about Gryffindors, he looked up from his notes (which were already meticulous) and searched the room for John. He could see him hunched over his desk, trying to make sense of what must have seemed foreign to him in the text. It was easy to see that Watson was a Muggle-born, especially since he was still having a few problems handling a quill.

As Sherlock studied the boy across the room, he heard a heavy breathing coming closer to him. He looked up and realized that Slughorn was wheezing as he made his way to the back of the room- towards Sherlock. He tried to avoid eye contact again with the professor, but that was difficult since he was coming right to him.

"My dear boy," Slughorn whispered louder than Sherlock would have preferred, "What on earth happened to you? Why haven't you gone to Madam Pomfrey?"

"It's nothing," Sherlock answered in a low voice. "I'm alright."

Slughorn pursed his fat lips and obviously did not believe Sherlock, which he expected since he was covered in a good amount of blood. "Let me fix that for you," said the professor in a softer voice. "Episkey!" he said, waving his wand towards Sherlock's nose.

Sherlock could feel his nose getting very hot, then very cold, and then almost back to normal. It was still wet from the blood, but it felt significantly better and less painful, and he assumed it no longer looked broken.

Slughorn pointed his wand at Sherlock again and muttered, "Tergeo". The blood instantly disappeared from Sherlock's face and robes.

Sherlock gingerly felt his face to confirm that he was back to normal. Professor Slughorn gave him a warm smile, which Sherlock returned in gratitude.

The professor turned and waddled back to the front of the class. "Alright students, I hope you copied down all the notes because now I am going to discuss them. Please take out the supplies you should have brought with you so I can show you examples."

After that, potions went beautifully. Sherlock was able to win 15 points for Ravenclaw for knowing the definition of an aconite and a bezoar in addition to all twelve uses of dragon blood. He later earned 10 more points for brewing a perfect Boils Cure.

He was almost disappointed when the bell rang and it was time for them to go to lunch. Honestly, he would rather spend his time working on Potions than his people skills, but he doubted that was an option. As Sherlock left the room, he could hear a few Gryffindors muttering "show-off" and "know-it-all" under their breaths. He was used to that by now, although it didn't make it that much less painful every time he heard someone utter any of those types of phrases. What hurt even more was the idea that a nice boy like John Watson would give in to peer pressure and start bullying him like his fellow Gryffindors, or worse, actually start to think of ill of him. Sherlock had not realized what a difference Watson had made just by being nice to him. True, his roommates were nice enough, but he got the feeling that they were just being nice to be accommodating. Their conversations with him felt forced and fake, and Sherlock could tell that they often lost interest with him.

"Hello, Sherlock," said a voice from behind him. Sherlock stopped and turned around, subconsciously grabbing his wand in case he needed any defense. He became aware of this and released his grip on his wand, relaxing his face. It was John. Five or six other Gryffindors were with him, but John motioned goodbye to them and they moved on, laughing together. Regardless of his blood status, he had apparently already made a good number of friends. Slytherin was the only House that really cared about family trees.

"Are you alright?" asked John, looking slightly concerned.

Sherlock straightened up and tried to erase any sign of fear he had just worn. "I'm fine," he said.

"How about that class? It's going to be hard, isn't it? I can't believe we have to take this for five years," said John as he started to walk towards the Great Hall.

Sherlock could not decide if he should brag and mention his potions skills or try to sympathize with John.

Before he could make up his mind, John had continued talking. "I mean, I guess I'm used to it. I used to do science experiments and the like when I was at school, but of course that was totally different. It was a Muggle school-"  
"I know," said Sherlock automatically. He hadn't meant to interrupt, but it was a habit of his to stop people from telling him things he already knew.

John looked at him, surprised. "You knew I'm Muggle-born? Did someone tell you?"

"No, I noticed," Sherlock answered.

John looked even more confused. "But how did you know…"

"I didn't know, I saw," said Sherlock. He knew that he should stop himself before he started showing off, but he found it hard to help himself. "I noticed some oddly shaped objects in your robe our first night here, they reminded me of the little army men toys that just came out. I've seen them before when my family and I went on vacation to Paris earlier this year. Every Muggle boy had them. Since you own them, you must have at least one Muggle parent, otherwise you wouldn't play with Muggle toys. However, the fact that you brought them with you on the train means that you wanted something with you, something to do if you got bored. Since getting bored was an option, you clearly don't know any other wizards- hence, Muggle-born. You're also carrying a new comic book with you and the pictures aren't moving- Muggle. The fact that it's new and obviously unopened means that you have it with you for entertainment but you've clearly been entertained enough by the new magic you're seeing, too entertained to read the comic book in class. It's expected for Muggle-borns to find everything fascinating at first. It doesn't help that I saw an owl that was clearly rented from Diagon Alley-rented, not owned- coming into breakfast this morning with a fancy new quill. The writing on the letter that came with it wasn't written with a quill and ink, it was written with a pencil. That screams Muggle. All that, plus the fact that you have stared in disbelief at any form of magic since you've gotten to Hogwarts and your difficulty in using a quill points to Muggle-born." Sherlock finished and took a breath; almost afraid to see John's face after pointing out the ways John was different. He chanced a glance to see the reaction, intending to look away again right after. However, he did a double take when he noticed a different sort of expression on John's face- awe.

"That was amazing," breathed John.

"Was it really?" Sherlock frowned, not out of displeasure but out of disbelief.

"It was extraordinary. Really, it was," said John.

He was the second person to actually give Sherlock a compliment. He was not used to any sort of positive attention. Sherlock was about to respond as they reached the Hall when he heard his name.

"Sherlock!" called a voice from across the Hall. "Sherlock, come over here!"

John and Sherlock both looked over to locate the origin of the voice, and both had opposite reactions when they saw it was a Slytherin. John gave a dark look towards Tom but Sherlock tried to repress a grin. John quickly said goodbye and headed over towards the Gryffindor table while Sherlock headed to the Slytherins.

"Sherlock," said Tom, his dark eyes bright with excitement and a hint of mischief. "I need you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews, it makes me very happy. I'm going back to school soon, so I'll do my best to post more chapters. It'll move much more quickly now that I have established the characters and all that. Comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome! I do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter.**

Tom had met Sherlock alone a few feet away from the Slytherin table; however, Sherlock could see a small group of four other Slytherins watching their interaction. Tom pulled Sherlock aside, as if their conversation was completely top-secret and confidential.

He spoke in a lowered voice, "Sherlock, I heard about what happened today, with you and Stratz I mean. He's such a prat!" Tom continued to rattle off a few nasty insults, which Sherlock preferred not to hear, even to describe a neanderthal such as Stratz. "Anyway," Tom continued, "I'm pretty sure he also nicked my quill during Charms and that's the only one I have."

He paused, only for a moment, but Sherlock still noted the smallest blush on his face after admitting that he could only afford one quill. Tom must have seen Sherlock's slight head nod as he noted the change in Tom, so he spoke in a more authoritative voice to recover from the embarrassment.

"I have a proposal for you of what we can do about him to handle the bullying situation. Trust me, it's a brilliant idea and I assume that you weren't planning to do anything about him, were you?"

Sherlock shook his head. He hadn't thought about revenge quite as much as Tom had, which was surprising and slightly unnerving since Sherlock had been bullied more than once over the past few days. All Stratz had done to Tom was steal his quill during second hour.

Tom held out his hand to Sherlock. "Are you in?"

Sherlock's brain was so used to thinking rapidly that it only took him a moment to process the situation. The benefits of the proposal were that he would not only silence the boy that had been so eager to abuse him while gaining the trust of a potential friend at the same time. The only disadvantage of the plot could be that he and Tom got caught, although a night or two of detention was hardly a bother for him. Besides, Sherlock knew that if he was involved, there would be no way for the professors to figure out he had any connection. He could easily make sure of that.

He took Tom's hand and shook it, a crooked smile on his face. "What did you have in mind?"

Tom had told Sherlock that those other four Slytherins knew a basic idea of the plan, but Tom and Sherlock were the only two students that slipped away later that day from their respective dormitories to the library. Sherlock was also the only student that Tom had actually asked for advice when devising the details of his idea. Tom had rightly assumed that Sherlock would not only want revenge on Stratz and have the cleverness to get away with it, but he would also have more magical knowledge than he did on the best way to execute the plan. Tom could not be more pleased when Sherlock was able to boast about his potions aptitude, which was perfect for the scheme Tom had in mind. The two spent a few hours after class together to plot what would be an excellent plan, Sherlock had to admit. He could not be happier. Although Tom had not come up with the brilliant scheme for very good intentions, Sherlock was pleased to discover that Tom was as clever as Sherlock had supposed. Sherlock also reveled in the fact that Tom was relying on him for his knowledge of potions, wizard routine, and the understanding of how Hogwarts was run, which Sherlock had picked up through stories from his family. To be needed felt good.

The first thing they needed to do was pick the perfect potion. It needed to be discreet and simple enough for first years to concoct, but effective. Sherlock had a few ideas in mind; it helped that he had poured over his brother's textbooks ever since Mycroft came home from his first year at Hogwarts. He had also taken advantage of the library in his home, Marylebone Manor. His parents and grandparents not only encouraged reading, but would often force him to read extremely difficult books "for his own good", as they said. For once, he was glad of all the hours he had spent by himself, sprawled out on the floor with a challenging book and dictionary beside him to look up the words he didn't know.

Those hours were certainly useful now. He showed Tom a few options that would work- not too difficult, but possibly challenging enough that the professors would not suspect that first years could make them. The fact that Tom was a Muggle-born also helped their cover, although Sherlock did not say this out loud.

Tom studied the ingredients needed for the Swelling Solution. "Do you think we'll be able to get all the ingredients?"

"Of course," answered Sherlock confidently. "I have the bat spleens and the dried nettles in my supply kit with me. I like to have a good variety of supplies with me."

"And the puffer-fish eyes?" asked Tom.

Sherlock frowned for a minute, trying to think. Those would be more difficult to get. They are usually only few galleons, but ordering them from Diagon Alley would leave a trace back to them. "I have an idea," Sherlock said. "During the next Potions class, I'll go to the cabinet to get some supplies and I'll swipe some eyes. We only need three; they'll hardly be missed."

"Excellent," said Tom, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "So you can make the potion. But where can we make it where no one will notice?"

Sherlock plunged into thought, putting his hands together under his jaw in his typical thinking style. He brought up a mental map of Hogwarts based on what his brother had told him and his own personal experience from the past two days.

"An empty classroom?" offered Tom, but for the first time Sherlock took no notice of him. He was too deep in thought to acknowledge that the boy had even spoken. Tom was slightly offended by this; he was obviously used to being able to command the attention of the room.

Sherlock was still thinking, so Tom chose to look around the library to make sure that no one would come over to their little corner near the back. Luckily, this did not seem likely. Although Tom already had a good number of followers already, it was still only the second day. It was not as if any Slytherins needed to go to the library to catch up on late homework.

Suddenly, Sherlock was jolted out of his thoughts, startling his companion. "I've got it," he announced. "When my family came over to dinner right before school started for Mycroft last year, my Great Uncle Bradley told me about this room by the dungeons. Everyone called it the 'Slug Pit'. He said some of the Slytherins would explore the dungeons near their common room and accidentally end up there. Nasty place, according to him."

"If it's so nasty, why on earth would we want to work there?" asked Tom, a slightly disgusted look on his face. He was thinking of a giant hole in the ground, filled with giant slugs. No one, aside from Ogg perhaps, would find that the least bit appealing.

"Because," said Sherlock patiently, "it's the perfect location. Besides the fact that no one goes there, everyone knows the Slytherin Common Room is somewhere by the dungeons. No one would question why you would be hanging about. And of course Potions is in the dungeons as well, so I could always explain that I'm doing some extra schoolwork. Besides, a classroom is too easily interrupted." Sherlock did not want to think about the fact that he, unlike Tom, did not have anyone that would wonder where he was. He was sure that no one would miss him if he went off for a few hours every day.

Tom nodded thoughtfully. "Is there any spell or charm we could use to get rid of the slugs?"

"Loads," dismissed Sherlock as he began leafing through the potions book again. The slugs would be the least of their problems. "We still need to find a way to give him the potion."

"I told you the plan," said Tom. "I thought that all through."

Sherlock detected an annoyance in his voice, as if he hated the fact that he had to rely on someone else for help. In an attempt to smooth over the situation, Sherlock decided to do something very out of character- he asked Tom for his opinion. "The problem is that the potion works on contact, see?" he pointed to one of the notes in the introduction of the potion. "So if we give him the potion through a letter, the letter will also grow. What can we do about that?"

Tom thought for a minute. "If we soak the paper in the potion, he'll start swelling the moment he touches it, right?" Sherlock nodded and Tom continued, "We can put the paper in the potion, cut it down to the correct size with our wands, and then use that Wingardium Leviosa spell Professor Flitwick was talking about today. We'll make our quills levitate to write the note."

Sherlock was impressed with this idea. It wasn't what he had in mind, but it would work well. Besides, it wasn't Sherlock's plan to begin with. "It'll take a lot of practice to use the charm for writing and not just levitating. But if we can get the hang of it, that will work well! Instead of using our own handwriting, the pen will float. That'll make it more difficult for anyone to trace the letter back to us."

Tom looked pleased at Sherlock's reaction. He began to wear his usual facial expression when around others, like a boy in charge of an important mission. "When can we start on the Potion?"

"Monday," Sherlock answered. "I'll have Potions again that day. In the meantime, we can plan what we want the note to say."

Tom gave him another of his mischievous smiles that Sherlock was getting so used to seeing. "Let's get started."

Since September 1st was a Thursday, the Hogwarts students had class on Friday and then a break during the weekend. Despite the fact that most students tended to complain about the workload during the school year, most were disappointed that they only had one day of class before the weekend. Everyone, especially the first years, were itching to learn.

During the weekend, Tom and Sherlock could easily finish their homework with plenty of time to work on their plan. They thought of the perfect note to write in the library and then headed to dinner together. The two boys parted ways to sit at their respective tables- Tom with his group of Slytherin followers and Sherlock with his Ravenclaw roommates. However, neither boy was very focused on the conversation at hand and seemed distant. As soon as dinner was over, they both rushed out of the Hall to meet up again.

The first thing on their agenda was to scope out the Slug Pit, or their "lair" as Tom called it. They found that it was indeed disgusting, which was good news since it meant that students and professors would stay away. They remained undisturbed for the next few hours they were there. Tom began to set up one of Sherlock's cauldrons and prepared a fire beneath it. Meanwhile, Sherlock lit some candles and used a simple vanishing spell to get rid of any slugs that came near. Slime and slug aside, it was the perfect hideout for two eleven year-old boys.

They visited the room often during the weekend. Tom was very good at coming up with excuses to explain his multiple disappearances to his friends. Kaden and Davitt were two of the few Slytherins that knew he was planning something with Sherlock, and Sherlock could have sworn they gave him a nasty look after lunch one day as he left the Hall with Tom. He could not help but feel some pride that someone was actually jealous of him.

Saturday was mostly spent practicing the Levitating Charm. Sherlock caught on easily, having seen it many times in his own home. It only took him two tries to make the slug levitate and stay controlled. He had never worried about his own magical talent, but he was concerned that Tom would get frustrated easily and want to give up. This was not the case. Tom was surprisingly good at it, especially for a Muggle-born that had never seen wandwork while growing up. Sherlock had to admit that he was shocked at Tom's talent for magic- shocked and pleased.

"You're amazing," said Sherlock as he lazily lifted a slug in the air and made it do figure eights. "I never expected you to catch on to the concept and practice so easily. I'm surprised you're not in Ravenclaw, a talented boy like you."

Tom grinned while still focused on his own slug, which was bouncing off the ceiling repeatedly. "Yeah, but remember why we're practicing this. I'm surprised you're not in Slytherin, a cunning boy like you."


End file.
